


Just (Accidental) Parenting Things

by circa (stealthturtle)



Series: the one with family [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alpha Derek, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Pack Bonding, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Pack Mom Stiles Stilinski, Spark Stiles Stilinski, super self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealthturtle/pseuds/circa
Summary: “Eight? They’re teenagers for fuck’s sake, it’s just a team night out,” Stiles said incredulously to Derek, who had his forearms crossed and eyebrows pinched like he knew he was fighting a losing battle.“It’s the weekend before the full moon, Stiles, it isn’t safe. Ten o’clock, no more.”“Eleven-thirty,” Stiles insisted.Derek rolled his eyes and said in exasperation, “Fine! Eleven sharp,” and turned to look at Isaac and Boyd to say, “And I’m not waiting up.”Stiles waggled his eyebrows at the Betas, smiling triumphantly. “Go on and scoot! Dinner will be in the microwave.”OrThe five (5) people who realised Stiles and Derek were a married couple before Stiles and Derek did (+1)
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: the one with family [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715101
Comments: 40
Kudos: 1936





	Just (Accidental) Parenting Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So I wrote this on the side while working on the fire is coming, which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19818952/chapters/46926247) . This is the prequel to Wouldn’t it be nice? It can be read as a stand alone but its still a accompaniment piece to the first fic this series has.
> 
> I got hit with a plot bunny that I just couldn't shake off so some one-shot writing on the side ensued. 
> 
> I live for happy pack and people deserving ALL the hAPPINESS. Honestly, it was a TinY bit of a challenge to switch tones between my other fic (which, if you've read, is angst and intensity at the forefront of it all. again, you can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19818952/chapters/46926247) )
> 
> Anywho, leave a review after the last line because it makes my day and i don't stop thinking about the comments yall leave for like DAYS!

**1\. Erica**

Erica Reyes has always considered herself an observant girl; this makes her their Alpha’s right-hand woman when it comes to looking out for shifty characters in Beacon Hills’ territory, having had many a successful rescue missions and organised raids with her supreme deductive skills. 

This is also how she immediately notices something has shifted in the pack’s dynamics the day Stiles Stilinski, resident human and bat-wielding extraordinaire, breaks in the loft to make breakfast. 

The morning is bright and sunny, which was a welcome awakening after last night’s  _ killer _ training regimen their Alpha put them on in preparation for the full moon next month. Her shoulder was still smarting after getting knocked into a tree by Isaac, and it brings her little satisfaction to see he didn’t look any better with the imprint of her fangs still scabbing over his stomach. 

Boyd was the first to filter out into the living room, no doubt lured in by the smell of cooking bacon and pancake batter. Erica was next with Isaac in tow, who was scratching gingerly at his battle scars that earns him a wolfish grin from the other blonde. He glares at her in response. 

Stiles was stationed at the kitchen, mindlessly whistling what Erica recognises as easily as the sound of her own heartbeat as the Batman theme song. There was already a stack of pancakes on the counter and a jar of milk laid out. He was in the middle of mincing vegetables and putting it in a bowl of beaten eggs when Boyd says, “Hello.” 

The human yelps in surprise, sending little bits carrots and cucumber to scatter on the floor. He stares at the three werewolves with wide-eyes and tuts, “I need to get all of you a bell. No, seriously, a  _ cowbell _ .” 

Stiles sighs and grumbles his way through picking off the vegetables off on the floor. “Sorry,” Boyd offers, and Isaac snickers as leads the pack to sit in front of the breakfast bar. 

“So,” Stiles starts as he flips the first batch of bacon on a plate, “which one of you got the worst beating last night?” 

Erica shoots her hand up so fast she hits Isaac on the jaw. 

“Ow!  _ Erica.” _

Stiles laughs good-naturedly and tells Isaac, “Sorry dude, but no one gets between Erica and her bacon.” The first plate lands in front of the girl and she says, “Thank you, Batman,” with the most well-behaved voice she could muster at 7:00 in the morning after training. 

“I don’t like vegetables with eggs,” Isaac says as he rubs his jaw, “do we have cheese?” 

Stiles acknowledges this by opening the refrigerator, scanning the shelves quickly before saying, “No cheese my dude, but I can offer you a regular scrambled egg and blueberries on your pancake?” 

“Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks, Stiles,” Isaac says quietly. 

“No problem!” Stiles chirps. “I figured you were all pityingly bruised up enough to deserve a breakfast that isn’t Pop Tarts and toast. Everyone drinks coffee, right? Except you, no coffee for you Erica.” 

She frowns, “Why not?” 

“You palpitate,” He replies factually. 

Boyd nods and agrees, “Your heart races like a stampede. No good.” And then supplies, “I like mine with sugar and cream.”

Stiles smiles at him and gives a thumbs up. He proceeds with fixing up two more plates and two cups of coffee all tailored to the Betas’ preferences. Erica watches this with amusement in between bites of her perfectly-cooked bacon strips, which is something she notes with pleasure. The only person who ever cooked bacon the way she liked it was her mother. 

When Stiles has set down food in front of everyone, he leans against the counter with a satisfied smirk as all three of them - for lack of a better word - wolf down breakfast with gusto. Food has always helped in healing sore muscles, and Erica’s impressed that the stack of pancakes holds up to the appetites of three hungry werewolves. 

“Bon appetite, puppies,” The human says brightly, and none of the three Betas even snap at the jest, immersed in quietly eating breakfast and taking sips of coffee and orange juice. 

Stiles faces back to the kitchen counter and makes a fourth plate of food, and as the pan sizzles as it meets raw bacon strips, Derek stumbles out of the master bedroom with sleep-mussed hair and a t-shirt on backwards. 

He swipes a hand across all three of the Betas’ napes in greeting and idles in front of the fourth bar stool. 

Stiles greets, “All right, Derek?” 

“Coffee,” he grunts, pushing off the table and heading to the coffee machine. “It’s empty,” Derek grouses. Without even turning to look at him, Stiles passes a steaming mug of joe. The Alpha takes it and starts, “I don’t take -”

“Sugar, I know. I used honey,” Stiles answers easily.

Derek peers into his mug like it’s a puzzle. “Does this have - ?”

“Milk, not creamer.” Stiles promptly slips a fixed plate on his other hand that silences Derek into walking back to the barstool. The Alpha eats with everyone else, but talks with Stiles while the rest of the wolves stay silent for the most part. But it is only Erica who pays attention, because apparently: there was a lot to pay attention to. 

Their Alpha and Stiles keep conversation about errands, something about Derek having to get the pack’s phone bill plan paid this month, and Stiles snorting through his coffee about  _ that bitch Jim from AT&T  _ who keeps calling his number instead of Derek’s because, 

“Like, I  _ know  _ I brought this on myself when I signed as the secondary contact, and the company knows I’m the less grouchy one between the two of us, but he’s so  _ pushy _ , y’know? How many times do I need to hear him passive-aggressively remind me to pay? Banking isn’t as easy in small towns.”

Then Derek says, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll settle the bill this Friday. Have you heard from Nora?” 

“Oh I’ve heard  _ too  _ much from Nora. She really wants a reply on the house renovations; I was thinking we could make a call with the contractors later?” 

“Yeah, okay that’s fine,” the Alpha agrees and takes a long sip of his coffee. Stiles busies himself after that with making a pile of sandwiches, at one point announcing, “You’re out of bread now,” and stuffing chicken and rye by twos in four separate Ziploc bags.

Derek is the first to excuse himself to get ready for work as a consultant in the station, putting an easy hand on the small of Stiles’ back in wordless thanks. Erica and Isaac practically wrestle for dominance of the second shower in the loft, which only plays to Boyd’s advantage as he slips away from the fray and into the bathroom. By the time he was dressed, Erica was sat triumphantly on top of Isaac’s chest. 

Stiles then berates her as if he hadn’t cheered the entire time, “Erica get off your packmate and get ready for school I’m not going be late for first period on account of all of your slow, furry asses!” 

Erica flounces away to shower, armed with a towel and leaving a grumbling Isaac on the ground. But she takes a moment to freeze as she witnesses Derek step out the door in his work clothes, Stiles chasing after him with a Ziploc bag, calling out, “You forgot your lunch!”, and Derek walking guiltily back to retrieve it. 

‘Goodbyes’ and ‘have a good day’s were exchanged as Stiles rolls the loft door closed.

Erica makes a sound of wonderment.

That’s the day she decides to pay a little more attention to Stiles Stilinski and her Alpha. She’s not sure yet what to make of their relationship, but it got her breakfast better than anything the pack could ever make for themselves. Erica asks him later in the Jeep if he could do it again next full moon, and Stiles wears a grin and she gets a sloppy kiss on the forehead for it. 

\---

**2\. Isaac**

Isaac doesn’t do well with PTA nights; there are just too many bad memories surrounding getting a bad grade. He usually just opts to burn the circular that invites parents to a one-on-one consultation with the homeroom teachers, then tells the guidance counselor for five years and running that his dad just can’t make it with his odd hours in the cemetery. 

This system has worked well until Derek became his legal guardian and insisted on turning up to them for senior year. Isaac understands that getting good grades is important to get a shot at applying for state universities, but sitting in an empty classroom with only six feet of space between Mrs. Halliwell explaining where his grades are going to shit and an authority figure to his side is just a PTSD trigger waiting to happen. 

Isaac is sat outside the classroom of his homeroom teacher, foot tapping restlessly on the floor as he waits for his Alpha to arrive. Parents paired with their sons and daughters come in and out of the door with varying expressions of dismay, pride, and indifference. He thinks seniors should be exempted from shit like this. Isaac and most of the pack are  _ eighteen  _ for God’s sake, this is just embarrassing. It is  _ also  _ embarrassing that he’s faced off larger threats in the world - kanimas, berserkers, werejaguars - and still, the look of disappointment on an authority figure’s face remains his one true psychological kryptonite. 

Isaac sighs. He thinks,  _ just one night, a few minutes inside, and it’ll all be over _ . 

He feels a figure crowd close and he hears, “Hey bud,” as Stiles drops into a seat next to him, seemingly out of nowhere.

Isaac looks up to the human with anxiety caught in his throat. “Hi,” he says weakly.

“Is it your turn yet?” Stiles asks, shifting his neck to look at the door. Another set of parent and child saunter out of it with happy grins.

“Just waiting for Derek,” Isaac mumbles, nervously running a hand through his hair. “What about you?” 

Stiles snorts, “The school gave up on making my dad come here years ago. I attend for myself. I’m a strong, independent student  _ with  _ a bad deportment grade, but who’s gonna look, right?” 

Isaac feels a little envious about this, but he understands. He says, “Well you’re all sorts of smart anyways, so I guess that’s fine.” 

Stiles flashes him an easy smile and puts a steady hand on the back of his neck. It sends a reassuring feeling down the werewolf’s spine, and this way, he hears Stiles’ heartbeat better and patterns his breaths to every other staccato of it. 

Stiles says softly, “I know stuff like this can get pretty rough, but that’s why I wanted to stick around for this round if that’s good with you." He takes his hand off Isaac's neck to stare at something on his phone. "Derek’s just texted that he’s near. Just gotta grin and bear it, right?” 

Isaac takes a deep breath and nods in quick successions, “Yeah, I - that’d be cool, if you did that.” 

It takes two more pairs to enter and exit the classroom before Derek arrives. He’s forgone his leather jacket for the night, wearing instead a dark green sweater and slacks that make him look like a young parent trying to prove his competency to way-older teachers. The fact that he’s come dressed for the occasion makes Isaac breathe a little easier. 

Mrs. Halliwell sits behind her desk with Isaac’s term card in her hand and raises an eyebrow at the sight of Stiles. 

“Hello, Mr. Stilinski. To what do I owe the pleasure? You and your father don’t even attend your own consultations,” she says primly. Mrs. Halliwell was never known to be mean, so Isaac knows she won’t be kicking Stiles out just for being there for him. 

“Ah well you know what they say, Miss,” Stiles starts with a blasé wave of his hand, plopping down to one of three chairs with Isaac in between him and Derek, “the education of the youth is the hope of the future.” He smiles winningly. 

She levels him with an amused upturn of her mouth and looks to Isaac, “Is this an arrangement you prefer, Mr. Lahey?” 

Isaac looks at her with wide eyes, then flits his gaze quickly at both men flanking his side. They both have twin reassuring expressions. Isaac lets his shoulders finally unravel and he exhales, “Yes, Ma’am. I prefer this.” 

Derek squeezes his elbow gently. 

“Very well,” Mrs. Halliwell picks up, “the curriculum for this term has been more challenging. Mr. Lahey has caught up satisfactorily.” 

She narrates a brief review of Isaac’s academic performance, congratulating him in English and Language and then encouraging more focus when it comes to Maths. All the while, Derek and Stiles nod placidly at his sides, beaming at Isaac for the good parts, and then looking at each other over the younger Beta’s shoulder for the less-exemplary ones like they’re holding their own inaudible conference. 

The meeting ends with handshakes and thankyous and well-meaning urging from Mrs. Halliwell for peer tutoring. When they exit the room, Isaac stares down at his report card without the foreshadowed feeling of dread. Right now, they’re just letters and numbers. 

Stiles claps him on the back and says, “You did so well, man! You totally deserve ice cream after this. My dad always got me ice cream on PTA nights; well, y’know, when we still bothered to go to them.” 

“Thank you,” Isaac says genuinely and looks at the two of them with a small smile, “both of you.” 

Derek favours Stiles’ side as the three of them head to the car park. Stiles discusses with the older man, “Peer tutors save money, but I was a peer tutor before and let me tell you: most of it ends in blackmail. And making out, but that’s just what I heard from the other tutors. I think it’d be better to pony up for an actual tutor.” 

Derek nods at this and turns to Isaac, “Which one would you prefer?” 

“Uh,” Isaac starts, “I can just study on my own. I don’t want you to waste money on a tutor.” 

Stiles places a hand on the Beta’s shoulder and says humorously, “Isaac, we’re not poor. Well, Derek in specific isn’t poor. And I would know, because I do his taxes since crunching numbers makes his eyes glow red. We can afford you a tutor.” 

Derek rolls his eyes at the jab but says anyways, “He’s not wrong. If hiring a tutor would be beneficial, then it’s an investment. Not a waste.” 

Isaac swallows a lump in his throat as the rare understanding of compassion sinks into him. Money was always an issue back when his dad was alive, even if it actually wasn’t. His dad always made sure Isaac knew  _ he _ was the issue, whether it involved money or food or work or school. 

Derek wasn’t the most composed Alpha, but he cares. He’s done his best to stand as Isaac’s guardian and every day he finds more reasons to trust the man more. 

“We’ll go with what you want, buddy,” Stiles nudges him softly with an elbow and a kind smile. Something in Isaac finally breaks loose.

Emotions of  _ packfamilyempathyfinally  _ topple over the edge and he makes a sharp movement to nosedive into the human’s shoulder and wraps his arms tightly around Stiles. 

Stiles rears back with an amused, “ _ Woah _ , cuddle-wolf,” but returns the glomping hug in a beat. Isaac feels Derek lay a large hand on his head of curls as he untangles himself from Stiles. The Beta clears his throat as he steps away, a flush resting on his cheeks, and he says with more strength in his voice, “I would like a tutor.” Then after a moment of consideration, “and ice cream. Rocky-road supreme.” 

Stiles grins and punches the air, “Three cheers for ice cream! Whoop - dee - doo!” 

Derek pipes up as he walks to the driver’s side, “Let’s go then, weirdos. Where do we meet you?” He asks Stiles as he opens the door with Isaac on the passenger’s side. Stiles clambers into his Jeep and calls out, “Lander Street! Place is called  _ The Creamery.  _ Last one to the door pays for everything!” He shouts with finality as the jeep peels out of the driveway and heads North. 

Isaac watches his Alpha chuckle softly to himself and asks, “The Camaro’s totally faster than that old jeep right?”

“Yep,” Derek says and revs the engine to life, “but we’re going to arrive last anyways.” 

“I won’t tell,” Isaac promises and laughs with his whole heart.

\---

**3\. Boyd**

Boyd’s  _ least  _ favourite time of the month is when Erica is on her period and turns into a whole different kind of monstrous. His favourite time of the month, however, is pack grocery day. 

It’s always a circus and a half when the pack restocks on food. Not everyone gets to be present every month, but Boyd is, because Boyd likes picking his flavoured yogurt on his own. Erica always sets out on her life’s mission to buy out an entire aisle of chips, Isaac is as usual in charge of checking off the grocery list with the  _ actual _ food they need, Derek commandeers two large shopping carts, and Stiles makes final vettings of the steadily growing mountain of perishables on each cart. 

“Erica,” Boyd hears Derek’s disapproving tone from the canned goods section, “we don’t need seven bags of potato chips. They’ll do you absolutely no favours during training.” 

“But -  _ Stiles,” _ Erica complains to the other man. Stiles only throws his hands up in mock-surrender and says breezily, “You heard your Alpha. You guys need more lean meat and leafy greens in your diet. What will the hags of Norwegia say if they ever use us for sacrifice?” He kicks his voice up into a loathsome impression of a crowing witch,  _ “This pack subsists on lard-fried potatoes. Terrible for offerings! Shame!” _

Boyd laughs quietly at this and puts down a jar of pre-made marinara in the cart, watching Erica scowl at the two of them but subtracts two family-sized bags anyway with a deep, defeated sigh.

“Did anybody get the mayonnaise?” Isaac asks with his nose buried in the long list of grocery items, blindly tailing Stiles into the fresh produce section as the human expertly picks out the select vegetables the pack can tolerate in a dish. 

“I did,” Boyd says. He turns to Stiles and asks, “Can we have peanut butter in the house again?” 

“Jackson is still allergic,” Stiles reminds, “much to all of our confusion and frustration. We can get peanut butter again once Deaton figures out the kanima-friendly version of an epi-pen. Sorry, champ.” 

Boyd shrugs and says, “It’s okay.” Even though he sure does miss peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. 

“How about we make you that lasagne you like for dinner instead?” Stiles offers in consolation, then grins when the taller Beta perks up at this. 

“With the breadsticks?” Boyd asks tentatively. 

“ _ So _ many breadsticks. Italian grandmas would cry,” Stiles enthuses, plopping down Chinese cabbages in fives. Derek only looks at the heightening pile with curious bewilderment. 

“If Boyd can place a meal request tonight, can I buy the Tesco biscuits?” Isaac looks up from his list to pin Derek with a rather unfair pleading look. The Alpha looks constipated for a moment, and wince-smiles the way only Derek can do before saying, “Sure, why not.” 

“Just one tin, Isaac, those are disgustingly buttery and will go straight to your thighs,” Stiles calls after his already-retreating form in search of his imported British snacks. He points a finger at Derek, “You spoil your cubs too often and they’ll get even rowdier during training.” 

Derek rebuts, “ _ Me?  _ Erica swindled you into doing her Home Econ baking project. We had brownies at the back of the fridge for weeks.” 

“Oh hush, you like my brownies. Everyone likes my brownies.  _ Jackson _ likes my brownies, and he doesn’t like anything other than the Porsche and Lydia.” Stiles pauses and picks up a bag of corn, “Which one of you likes corn soup again?”

“Erica and Scott,” Derek answers immediately. “Still, you’re the spoiler.”

“And you’re the disciplinarian?” Stiles mocks as he vetoes Erica’s attempt to smuggle in a few cans of Spaghetti-O’s. “Absolutely no nutritional value in this, stop it." He places them back on a shelf. 

"See, that’s discipline, Derek. Not  _ this _ ,” he points to an impressive stack of frozen pizza boxes the combined effort of all three betas accomplished, while both Stiles and Derek were busy finding the werewolf nose-friendly hand soap. 

Derek frowns at it like he never even noticed it was there in the first place. “Huh,” he says dumbly, “that’s extra laps for everyone then.” 

Isaac takes this moment to amble back and chuck his Tesco-brand biscuits in the cart with a grin. 

“Spoiler,” Stiles says smugly, “case-in-point.” 

Personally, Boyd doesn’t really have specific food preferences, he isn't fussy like that; always just says his grace like Gramma Boyd taught him before eating whatever Stiles or Derek has prepared. (Lydia attempted to cook once for everyone on Jackson’s birthday, and got banned from the kitchen indefinitely after letting a whole eggplant explode in the oven.)

He prefers hanging back and letting who he’s identified as the two heads of the household wrestle the perpetually-bickering Isaac and Erica into sticking to the grocery list. But Stiles was wrong, Boyd thinks. The human had a stronger resolve when it comes to food restrictions and Derek was loose when it came to it, but Stiles was always the enabler of the two. 

For example, last week was the lacrosse team’s annual  _ bro-athon _ as Stiles had dubbed it, and living in Derek’s household unfortunately meant telling him their plans especially if it meant coming home late. 

It was meant to be a late-night bowling-and-pizza sort of thing and maybe a few (contraband) drinks at their teammate Henry's house, which is something Stiles was familiar with having been part of the team previously. 

"They can't even get drunk, Derek, I don't see what the problem is," Stiles said from the couch he had been filling out college applications from. Boyd and Isaac were already inching to the front door at the time, poised to leave the second Derek stops being rigid about curfew. 

"What he said," Isaac offered with a placating grin that did nothing for Derek's put-upon expression. Boyd didn't speak up, because Boyd knew what was good for him. And what was good for the both of them was to let Stiles wear down Derek's resolve because that's his specialty, the Beta had come to understand, aside from making lasagne. 

"I want you both driving back by eight," Derek had first instructed.

“ _ Eight? _ They’re teenagers for fuck’s sake, it’s just a team night out,” Stiles said incredulously to Derek, who had his forearms crossed and eyebrows pinched like he knew he was fighting a losing battle. 

“It’s the weekend before the  _ full moon _ , Stiles, it isn’t safe. Ten o’clock, no more.” 

“Eleven-thirty,” Stiles insisted.

Derek rolled his eyes and said in exasperation, “Fine! Eleven  _ sharp _ ,” and turned to look at Isaac and Boyd to say, “And I’m not waiting up.”

Stiles waggled his eyebrows at the Betas, smiling triumphantly. “Go and scram! Dinner will be in the microwave.” 

Isaac and he had crept quietly back to the loft at 11:14 PM, sated and warm from the night's celebration, but froze when they saw Stiles still awake, hunched over his application forms. However, the human had only waved in greeting and asked them, "Had fun?" 

Isaac responded, "Lots. Wish you had been there, though." 

Stiles shrugged and only said, "Not my thing anymore. Food's still in the microwave if you both aren't already in for a junk food coma later," before gathering his own things as he prepared to turn in for the night. Boyd observed his easy manner curiously, knowing that the only other available room that the Betas didn't vacate was Derek's, and Stiles wasn't making an effort to leave. 

What Boyd noted with even more surprise was Isaac reaching out to the human for a hug from the dinner table, where leftover beef stew was laid out that Boyd had heated up for the two of them. 

"Get some rest, you overgrown furballs," Stiles had bid. Boyd even got a scent-marking palm between his shoulder blades. 

"Goodnight," Boyd said quietly as Stiles disappeared into the bedroom. He had looked away and minded his own business after that. The beef stew was nice and he had had to fight Isaac off for the last piece of meat. 

  
  


"Isaac, you already got your biscuits, put the ramen away that shit's terrible for you," Stiles at-current chastises, poking at the bag of instant noodles.

The blond protests, "But in college this is like, what everyone's gonna have! Think of it like my  _ training _ ." 

"Oh no you won't," Stiles says warningly, "every single one of you is learning how to cook if it's the last thing you'll do." 

"Ramen won't kill werewolves," Derek pipes up in consideration. Boyd watches Stiles' eyes narrow in betrayal and tell him, "You are either with me on this or without me, and that means no brownies, like,  _ ever. _ " 

"Just saying," Derek shrugs, shooting an apologetic look at Isaac who withdraws the offending food away. 

They've reached the dairy and frozen meats section, and this is where most of their necessities are. There's different cuts of steaks, ground pork and beef, and a lot of chicken parts that get ordered and gently piled on the cart. This is when Boyd will usually separate from the group and head to a shelf of yogurt. 

YEO yogurt is his favourite, and he usually buys them by tens; enough to last him for a few weeks with a yogurt every other day and not enough for Stiles to disapprove. But today must be Boyd's lucky day, because there was a 24-pack on promo with  _ all  _ of his preferred flavours (except mango). Boyd reaches out and happily holds it against his chest. He places it on the cart behind three boxes of Kellogs, which is of course exactly the moment Stiles turns back and raises an eyebrow at him. He stiffens. 

"They're...on sale," Boyd says simply, his hold incrementally faltering on the cups. 

Then Stiles smiles and taps a forefinger on his nose three times, as if he was keeping a secret of Boyd's. The Beta takes this as permission to let go of the package fully, and then whistles contently to himself all the way until they reach the cashier. 

\---

  1. **Scott**



Scott takes pride in taking after his mother when it comes to caring for those who need to be cared for. Being a son of a nurse, he’s spent a good amount of time hanging around the hospital and befriending the staff, many of which were present for Scott’s own baptism. He’s spent a lot of time as well bouncing around the different wings and wards of the hospital, getting acquainted with doctors, nurses, and more medical frontliners than he could remember but always waved to. 

One of his favourite things to do, as a kid who could get away with a lot of things, is hang out at the Recreation and Social Room, where patients are allowed to watch TV, play mahjong, and hang out when it’s not being booked for support groups. When Scott got older, he took to volunteer-supervising (read: being a glorified therapy dog in case any distress-induced incidents occur) some of the support groups that the hospital allowed him to without a degree in Psychology. It’s great fun, especially when he gets to play with the kids going through chemotherapy, or be a crying shoulder for the newly-widowed, or serve as a sterling fountain of information for the single parents with unruly kids who have  _ so many  _ questions that’s just right up Scott’s alley. Stiles jokes that it’s because he has a special secondary mental age that’s between a newborn puppy and a thirteen-year-old kid. 

Whatever, Stiles narrates elaborate sci-fi plots in his sleep and drools. Scott’s even recorded a few.

Today is a good day to volunteer, because the room is booked by the Coalition of Single Parents and Waiting Spouses. It’s a Facebook-founded local support group of parents who are without partners or those who have spouses drafted in the Military, bound together by the shared struggle of raising kids on their own. Scott usually has the time to supervise this meet, but Allison’s parents had insisted on having lunch with the two of them and that’s just the kind of “future-in-law” invitations Scott’s not allowed to decline. 

Fortunately, Stiles was free for the afternoon. 

“I’m ready for action, Scotty-boy!” His best friend announced cheerily from the entry-way. Scott notes that he’s put on his nicest dress shirt and the slacks he wore at prom last year. Even the way he fixed his hair makes him look like he should be taken at least a  _ little bit _ seriously. 

Scott beams at the sight of him. “Well look who broke out the fancy tie! You’re a life-saver, man, I owe you one.”

The human scoffs. “You owe me three  _ hundred _ . This isn’t my first rodeo helping you save your epic star-crossed love story,” Stiles says jestingly. “So what d’ya got for me today? Kids? Geriatrics who need me to pre-chew food? I’m ready to serve.” He splays his arms out for effect. 

Scott rolls his eyes but laughs at this, “Single parents, they’re really the most low-maintenance. Thanks again for this buddy!” A text buzzes in his phone and Scott makes the cursory glance at it and reports, “Allison says thank you, too!” 

“Yeah, yeah, you better name your firstborn after me,” Stiles waves him off. “Have fun with the Argents!” 

Which would have been a sound plan, until fifteen minutes later and he’s at the Japanese restaurant Chris told him to be at and found out their reservations weren’t for another two hours. 

Okay, so maybe the secondary puppy-teenager brain theory Stiles made up wasn’t too far off. Scott wasn’t dumb, of course, just...forgetful. He texts his girlfriend as much. 

[Allison - 12:24 PM]

**_:( Sweetie I reminded you yesterday about the time. Just be there at 2 later, ok?_ **

So, alright, this means he could go back to the hospital and get to hangout with Stiles, then! Serendipity at its finest. No time like Bro-time. 

Upon his return, he really wasn’t sure what he should have expected with Stiles and his first volunteer work with the support groups. But honestly? It’s definitely not this. Scott heard the conversation before he saw it, which made it all the more confusing until he actually got to the Recreation and Social Room.

Stiles was at the center of the circle with moms and dads alike listening to him intently like he held the secrets of child-rearing at the palm of his hands. He had his cell phone out and was seemingly swiping through photos with the way the parents cooed at whatever he was showing them. 

“This one was taken after I finally convinced our youngest to trust that I wasn’t going to be violent just because I had raised my voice,” Stiles explains. “See, we got ice cream.” 

“Oh I just love those blond curls,” comments Mrs. Elizabeth Ross who has two fifteen and fourteen-year-olds of her own. Scott’s seen them in school before. 

“My Martha recently turned thirteen and by  _ God  _ has she turned into a proper nightmare. I love her with all my heart, but she shrieks whenever I ask her to stop using up all the hot water and I just want to hide from her angst,” Rebecca Emmonds, the young single mother from Scott’s neighbourhood, laments at the group. 

Stiles laughs sympathetically and tells her, “I think I get what you mean. Our only girl in the house snarks at everyone on a daily basis if we so much as move her items from wherever the hell she leaves it strewn around. I’ve learned that the key is maximum patience and being generous with compliments. Positive reinforcement is always good.” 

A father next to him who Scott recognises as Mr. Banks swipes at Stiles’ screen and wolf-whistles appreciatively. “Is that your husband?” 

The other parents crowd even  _ closer,  _ if that was possible, to get a long look at the picture of Stiles’ phone. The group all make matching appraising noises and then proceed with badgering him right after with sentiments like - 

“Is that why you’re raising so many teenagers? Did you two adopt?”

“I suppose it’s easier to have kids when you’re closer to their age. What did your father say about it?”

“ _ Damnit _ , my daughter dresses the same way as yours. How do I tell her to tone it down for school?” 

Even the more conservative Mrs. Jenna Khan who, from time-to-time, tuts at Scott and his mom for not seeing them at church on Sundays, made her own remark of, “I can see why you rushed for marriage and family. Has your partner been on TV before?” 

“Oh yeah he definitely looks familiar,” goes Mr. Walt, who owns the laundromat in Pleasantview. 

Stiles visibly reddens and chuckles awkwardly. “No he isn’t on TV, but I’ve told him many times before that he should.” 

“How long have you been a family?” Rebecca asks kindly. 

Stiles gives her a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression and rushes over his own words to say, “Oh we - we aren’t married, or even like,  _ together _ . The kids aren’t even legally bound to him it’s just - it’s sort of, uh, complicated? And if I explained the entirety of the situation it’d take up the hours in your meeting’s reservation so,” he trails off with an embarrassed smile and a hand scratching the back of his neck. 

Mrs. Jenna hums disapprovingly and tells him, “Well you best uncomplicate the situation, then. Teenagers need reliable guidance and nurturing.”

“It’s really none of our business, Jenna,” Mr. Walt tells her. “Stiles seems to be doing just fine with the kids.” 

“Mhm, how  _ do _ you have such a strong nurturing instinct, Stiles?” Mrs. Elizabeth follows up. “You seem very young to be looking after teenagers.” 

Stiles makes a discomforted noise and admits, “I’m basically one myself.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Jenna interjects. “I’ve been on this good Earth for forty years, boy, and I can recognise a parent when I see one.” 

Stiles huffs out an amused laugh, sinks deeper into his chair that gives away his youth and mumbles, “I’m really not.” 

Scott takes this as an opportunity to save the day because he is an  _ awesome _ best friend and announces, “Hey, everyone! Sorry, sorry, my bad, I thought I had a lunch thing at this hour. But apparently  _ nada. _ ” He saunters in the room and winks at Stiles’ relieved look. “Anyone want refreshments?” 

Stiles’ phone rings after that and he excuses himself out of the room as Scott takes down orders from the group. They’ve got an hour left in their reservations and the members settle down in their routine soon enough. 

Scott flits between the coffee and juice vending machines for the beverage requests but keeps an ear open to Stiles’ phone call. 

_ “Isaac doesn’t finish with his tutor until five.”  _ He hears a familiar gruff voice.

“I know that, Derek, I put the post-it on the kitchen calendar,” goes Stiles’ patronising tone. “The tutor had to bail today, Isaac didn’t say why, just that you dropped him off and now he needs a ride. Why did you get him a tutor that’s almost an hour away from your house, anyways?” 

_ “He picked that, not me. Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m tied up with a case. If you can get him for today I’ll take care of dinner.”  _

“What case? Is it anything we should be worried about?” Stiles asks, briefly checking his watch. 

_ “Not yet. The incident happened far from our area but it’s pretty bad and I don’t want any one of us taking any chances. Tell the rest to not go to the Preserve alone for the meantime.”  _

“Okay, I’ll ask Scott if I can clock out early at this thing. Text updates so we know you’re not dead, alright?” 

_ “I’m not going to die at an investigation, Stiles.” _

“Shut up, don’t jinx yourself, we’ve had weirder near-death circumstances!” 

Scott hears Derek sigh from the other end of the line. He suspects it’s the mediocre signal that made the sigh sound  _ fond. _

_ “I’ll text every other hour. But don’t wait up.” _

“You don’t tell me what to do, that’s mine and Lydia’s job.” 

_ “Lydia doesn’t fuss about my personal business.”  _

“I  _ am _ your personal business. My father is the law. That makes me like, lawforce-adjacent.” 

_ “Stiles. I have to go.” _

“Fine, just don’t be surprised if I start a manhunt if we don’t hear from you every two hours. I’ll see you at home.” 

_ “See you.” _

The call clicks to an end leaving Scott to stare down at a Mountain Dew in bewilderment. Then he looks at Stiles, who’s packing up his items and waving goodbye to the adults in the Rec room like he fit right in with them. Scott is a lot of things that he is  _ not,  _ and one of the first things on that list is that he is never not attuned to the developments in Stiles’s life. He fucking lived through literally  _ all  _ of it, after all. So how did it go right under his nose that Stiles was...so domestic with the pack? Or moreover, with Derek?

Stiles walks over to him with his phone already dialing Isaac’s number, and he says, “Hey dude, sorry I have to pick up Isaac. I figured it’s cool if I book it from here since you’re back?”

Scott nods slowly at him. 

“You okay, bud?” Stiles squints at his expression. 

“Yeah,” Scott starts, voice higher than usual. “Just - when you get married, I’m totally going to be the best man, right?” 

Stiles frowns, then his face bursts into short, mirthful laughter. “You’re a riot, man. But Scott,  _ duh _ , who the hell else? Unless you leave me for Danny in the next ten years, but even then I’d probably kill Danny for you. And I like Danny.” 

“Sure it’s ten years?” 

“I’m just waiting to be wooed here,” Stiles jokes easily. “I gotta head out now, good luck again with the lunch thing!” 

Scott is  _ totally _ going to be the greatest Best Man at his best friend’s wedding. Fuck Danny. (But we like Danny.)

\---

  1. **Sheriff**



If John Stilinski had a penny for the amount of times a member of the law enforcement ended up in a hospital, he’d have sent Stiles to an early admission to Stanford with a fully-paid tuition. Plus a new apartment. 

The hazards of keeping the county safe means getting banged up from time to time, so John never tires of reporting to the hospital immediately after a crime scene to see to his men and women’s wellbeing himself. His genuine compassion has won him the vote for Sheriff for many years, after all. 

Perhaps John hasn’t seen it all, but he’s seen a  _ lot _ . He’s seen bruises and blood and torn ligaments and broken minds. He’s debriefed deputies from particularly traumatising cases and has even, at a pinch, set more bones into place than he’d prefer to. Hell, he’s seen supernatural intervention get to his employees ever since his son gave him The Werewolf Talk and Special Consultant Derek Hale joined their ranks. 

So, see, there’s not a lot that could catch him off guard. He’s a seasoned officer with a desensitized mind.

But nothing could have prepared him for this. 

He had received the call earlier on that one of his men got into a nasty accident at a warehouse. John only had to hear the words “iron beams” and “miraculously didn’t die” to know he had to run out of the station to see the damages for himself. John raced to the hospital and immediately sought Melissa McCall who informed him it was Derek Hale who got into the accident and that the attending nurse who received him had already called-in his emergency contact. 

“He’s at the ER,” Melissa informs him calmly, “he just got knocked unconscious and nothing we both know he won’t recover from shortly. Seems like the deputy he was with wasn’t given the four-one-one when it comes to supernatural healing?”

“Yeah well, I haven’t gotten around to training everyone just yet to call Alan Deaton come hell or high water for injured were-creatures,” John says, rubbing a hand across his face in relief. “Did you say he had an emergency contact?”

Melissa shrugs and responds, “I wasn’t the one who received him, but yeah apparently. I’m just glad he even  _ has _ one.” 

John could agree as much. Derek was one of the kids he watched grow up and then had to painfully witness cope with the town’s biggest tragedy all alone. He’s heard enough from Stiles and Scott the amount of floundering he did after the death of his last living sister and having to off Peter Hale himself to know that Derek wasn’t the most open person in the world. Knowing that he had an emergency contact meant he was truly becoming well-adjusted again, which pleases John because as far as he knows, the man was now responsible for one young Isaac Lahey. 

John thanks Melissa as she leaves to get back to work, giving him the opportunity to show himself to the emergency room. 

He was a few feet away from the doors when a blur of plaid  _ rushes  _ past him so aggressively that it ruffled the collar of John’s uniform. 

What he witnessed next made him stop in his tracks by the open-hanging door. 

Stiles was doubled-over a bandaged Derek Hale, who looked the most disgruntled he’s ever seen him, and John’s seen the guy take a bullet before and almost  _ die _ . His son inspected the older man with wide eyes and a mouth that didn’t give the patient a chance to speak up. John hears Stiles ramble, 

“Fuck, I came as fast as I could, you  _ asshole _ I was in the middle of grad practice! Where are you hurt?  _ Why  _ are you hurt and why aren’t we at the Vet? Who did this? I  _ swear to God _ if we get into another altercation before graduation I’m never leaving this town and Lydia and I are gonna start tagging the goddamn creatures in this place.” 

Derek swats away his son’s wandering hands and grunts out, “I’m  _ fine,  _ it was a freak accident, it’s not like metal beams have heart beats.” 

Stiles blinks wildly at him. “I’m sorry, did you just say you got bested by  _ metal beams?” _

Derek eyebrows draw closer to each other as he seems to sink lower in his hospital gurney. He mumbles, “There was a lot, I don’t know what you want me to say…”

Stiles then drops down into a monobloc next to the bed and starts laughing gracelessly, not even dissuaded by Derek’s shushing and the looks the nurses were shooting at him. His son says, “Alpha of Beacon Hills county versus metal poles. Who would win? Not you, apparently.” 

“Shut  _ up,” _ the older man grits out, “I’m fine, you can take your leave now and go back to practice.” 

“Oh no you don’t, I broke all the damn speeding laws to get to you. I’m not leaving until we’ve discharged you. Tell you what, we can head down to the crime scene later and have a rematch between you and the warehouse supplies. See how you fare against plywood this time.” 

Sometimes John wonders how Stiles avoids not being mauled by his werewolf friends with the snark he packs. He’s not surprised to see Derek match his son’s shit-eating grin with an opposite down-turn of his mouth. 

A woman who must be Derek’s attending nurse comes up to them with a clipboard in hand and raises an eyebrow at the tableau they made. 

She says, “ _ You’re _ emergency contact M-miyezis-something?” 

Stiles smiles joviantly at her and answers, “ _ Mieczysław. _ That’s me, Nurse Barb! But if you ever tell anyone that, I’ll sue this hospital.” 

“You and whose army?” Barb says with amusement. 

“If I tell you I’ve got a pack of wolves on my side, would I be more of a threat?”

John almost chokes on his own saliva. 

Barb only laughs and says, “Not with those doe eyes, never. Alright, well I just came over to check on the patient.” She notes his upright position dubiously. “He’s bounced back surprisingly well but concussions and internal hemorrhaging could still pose as a serious hazard.” 

“I’m feeling perfectly fine,” Derek insists from his position, hands folded over each other in an attempted display of well-being. “I can discharge myself. Now.” 

“Your charm never ceases to surprise me, Derek,” Stiles says, laden with sarcasm. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Hale, but it would be wholly irresponsible to discharge you upon your request as a head trauma patient. You arrived no less than an hour ago. We need to have you examined first.”

“Well I could, right?” Stiles inquires. “Since he’s my responsibility on paper. We’ve got a family doctor, no one knows how to care for personal injuries like him. We’d be taking up less space here that way, too!” 

Barb fixes them both with a concerned look and responds, “Well, we’d have to see identification, then. And for my peace of mind, proof of a trained doctor who can see to his potential internal damage.”

Stiles shoots Derek a look that says, _this is your fault,_ before turning to the woman with a winning smile. “Look Barb, I came straight from a prior engagement and thought this handsome man right here was dying. Bringing ID definitely wasn’t in my top priorities. Could I just fax it over when we get home?” 

“Hospital policy, Mr. Stilinski. We need stuff like this so we don’t get sued by big-shots like you and your wolf pack.” 

Stiles chuckles stiltedly, “Look, no one’s going to be looking for Derek aside from me I can assure you that. And I’m totally not kidnapping him.” He pushes his hands together, “This can go one of two ways: I try to convince you I’m his husband and have all the right to sign those discharge papers and you can wonder how I bagged the hot police consultant,  _ or  _ Derek’s going to forcefully escape from this room when neither of us are looking and brain himself on more scrap metal.” 

“ _ Stiles,”  _ Derek says sharply.

“Not the time, honey,” Stiles waves him off, eyes still trained on the nurse who looks like she would rather be anywhere else. 

John decides this is probably the time he should clear his throat. 

“Nurse Barb, I can take it from here,” he says. All three pairs of eyes snap to him and Stiles’ eyes widen. The woman nods and decides she’ll forward the case to her supervisor and makes John promise to talk to her later. 

John walks over the gurney and greets, “Sorry about that, Derek. I’ll put Parrish with you on cases next time.” 

Derek only nods solemnly and says, “No harm done, Sheriff. I’m sorry you had to go all the way down here.” 

“All part of my job, son. Hello Stiles,” he turns his attention to the younger man. 

“Heyyy Dad, fancy seeing you here. You look good, have you been working out?” 

John rolls his eyes. “Look, I don’t mind you’re his emergency contact, I just got caught off-guard. I don’t even want to ask how or  _ why.  _ I want to ask Derek more if he’s sure about assigning you.” 

Derek only stares at him and says, “Uh.” 

Stiles backhands him on the shoulder, “Don’t be fucking rude.”

Nurse Barbara pops back in to call John and he’s only  _ slightly _ disappointed that he can’t combination-interrogate-embarrass the two men any further until later. He nods his assent and looks at Derek first to tell him, “I’ll take care of this. Good job today, Consultant Hale,” and then at Stiles to say, “Take care of the husband.”

Stiles’ resounding squawk and Derek’s pale face only satisfies him a fraction. 

—-

**+1 Derek and Stiles, 2 years later.**

College has tugged the pack away in six different universities, and Stiles hates it with a burning passion on most days. 

He was, of course, the first to congratulate Lydia when she (unsurprisingly) got into MIT, and he cooked Isaac’s favourite beef stew when he finally built up the courage to send his photography portfolio to UCS. He and Allison threw Scott a party when he got short-listed for a great pre-Med course in Irvine, and he baked some goddamn phenomenal brownies for Jackson and Erica’s same-day acceptance into UCLA. He also made it a point to celebrate Boyd, who decided to take a gap year to focus on his growing passion in furniture manufacturing, and was rewarded with Italian food and  _ all _ the YEOs, because character development doesn’t  _ only _ happen in college, okay?

In fact, it was a running theme for all of senior year extending into post-graduation: One pack member finally gets into the school of their dreams, and Stiles made it law to celebrate it. 

If only actually going to college was as awesome as getting  _ into _ it. 

Stanford was a challenging breath of fresh air, even if he knew absolutely no one from back home here. His roommate was generally amiable and didn’t question him whenever he disappeared every now and then to dip in Beacon Hills just to nip some supernatural threat or other in the bud, only to come ambling back to their dormitory either in the early morning or the dead of night. He’s doing pretty well in all his classes, except Applied Physics because that one was  _ kicking his ass _ left, right, and centre. But it’s whatever. Stiles hasn’t let anything successfully kick his ass since the Alpha Pack Extravaganza of 2011. 

He’s  _ got this. _

Except when he doesn’t, and today was a particular ass-kicking day. He’s nursing an ego wound from a terribly-graded mock exam in APHYS 232 in preparation for the first term’s finals week. Fuck it, he just wants it to be over and done with so he can  _ finally _ go home to visit his family.

On days like this, being without the pack is torture. Ever since taking his role of denmaker, he’s siphoned more energy and connection from them and it can nearly drive him nuts with the lack of pack bond that used to pulse steadily under his skin. Now it’s more of a light thrumming, always there when he feels out for it, but not enough to be grounding as opposed to if they were all banded together.

So that sucks in massive proportions. But if you ever accused Stiles of being the clingy parent he’ll deny it all to hell. 

He trudges back to his dorm room where his roommate Noel was already in his study area, then proceeds to shed a heavy knapsack and his jacket on the floor before flopping belly-first on the mattress. 

“Tough day?” Noel asks over his laptop. 

Stiles warbles out something like “Mrgherf,” in response. 

He spends a solid minute toiling in disappointment, before deciding to shuffle into a sitting position so he can passive-aggressively open his laptop and double-click on Skype. 

There’s only nine contacts in his list, comprised of the pack including Dad. He double-clicks on the one named  _ Alpha 1.0  _ with a ring emoji after it, praying to the heavens the call gets picked up. 

He gets answered after five rings, and Derek’s face fills the screen. 

_ “What’s wrong?” _ Derek says immediately with concern furrowing his pixelated eyebrows. His eyes are flitting around the screen, probably looking for bruising and wounds. Stiles rolls his eyes but can’t help but laugh at his paranoia. 

“I’m fine, Derek,” he starts, then grouses, “but my exam results aren’t. I hate Aphy,  _ why  _ am I here again?”

_ “Because you’re smart and Biophysics was your first choice when you applied there,”  _ Derek informs him with easy candor, like he knew this way before Stiles did. Which, Stiles wouldn’t put it past him, because psychic-werewolf-mate senses that’s why. 

“If I were smart, I wouldn’t be legitimately-failing an illegitimate-exam,” he points out and shakes the red-marked paper at the screen. 

Derek squints at the screen to see it before reassuring him, _ “You’ll get back on your feet, you always do.”  _ Stiles recognises the background of Derek’s video square as the kitchen.

“Are you cooking?” He asks. 

_ “I was, but someone called me so now I’m hanging out while the beef broils,” _ Derek says as he tosses a kitchen towel over his shoulder. He’s wearing a wifebeater and Stiles thinks it’s  _ unfair _ that he’s already incapable of passing a major and now he’s aware all over again that another thing he  _ can’t  _ do is be all up on his boyfriend. He’d like to say this sucks ass, but even that expression just makes him feel sorry for himself. 

“I hate this,” Stiles groans, letting his head fall back on the headboard with a dull thud. “I miss you, I miss everyone else and I miss Dad and Melissa. And  _ you’re  _ there looking perfect and making meals in  _ my  _ kitchen, and I can’t even mock your stupid recipes because I can’t taste them.” Stiles sighs in despair. “Friday can’t come any faster.” 

At this, Derek ducks his head with a pleased smile, something Stiles has always found spectacularly adorable on an otherwise intimidating Alpha. He’s braced his arms (that are  _ flexing _ under the weight  _ goddamnitalltohell _ ) on the kitchen counter, where his tablet is probably propped on, looking gloriously stubbled and a little shiny with sweat. 

_ “I know, baby. I miss you too,” _ Derek responds with that same smile now turned on him through the camera. And  _ swoop _ goes the feeling in Stiles’ stomach, without fail ever since Derek found out that he could bring out the big guns and use pet names on Stiles. It’s his kryptonite okay, he’s  _ allowed _ to go a little weak in the knees every now then. 

It works now, too. Stiles feels his mouth tug down into a frown (that Derek insists looks like a pout but Stiles doesn't  _ pout _ , alright). His hackles melt into simple longing to connect with his mate and his pack. 

“How’s Boyd’s project going?” Stiles inquires in place of complaining further. 

_ “The chairs are going well. He’s really doing great with carving details,”  _ Derek answers calmly but with obvious delight.  _ “He’s also been talking about taking out a loan from the household fund to open a woodshop.” _

“That’s great!” Stiles exclaims. “We could totally do that for him.”

_ “Yeah,” _ Derek agrees,  _ “I told him he could ask me or you anytime to wire it to his account.” _

“And of course, we’re returning everything he pays back?” Stiles says with a grin. Derek doesn’t do loans. Derek only knows how to provide for his pack and get supremely stubborn about it. 

_ “What Boyd doesn’t know can’t hurt him.” _

“Wait is he at home, can’t he hear us?”

Derek shakes his head and says,  _ “He’s out buying shampoo. Have you told Lydia and Jackson to come by this weekend?”  _

“Yeah, I texted them. Erica’s not above dragging Jackson to town by the ear so I’m not worried, but Lydia’s really busy. She’s interning already at her level.” 

_ “Maybe next time then. At least the blond twins are gonna be back together,”  _ Derek offers with a placating grin. The perpetual feud between Isaac and Erica has always been a soft spot for Stiles. He doesn’t know why there  _ has _ to be a favourite fair-haired family member, but that’s just how they’ve always been. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says with a small smile of his own. Just then, a text buzzes in his phone informing him his Biology group was calling for a project meeting. He sighs through texting an affirmative. 

“I gotta go, Der. College calls,” he informs the werewolf apologetically. 

_ “It’s fine. Call back whenever.”  _ Derek gives him a smile, and he looks so fucking good Stiles wants to  _ cry. _

“Don’t let anyone steal you from me until I get there,” the human tells him pointedly. “Lots of gold diggers in town; you can never be too careful.”

The Alpha rolls his eyes good-naturedly.  _ “We have a joint checking account. How much more commitment do you want?”  _

Stiles grins in earnest, fondness blooming in his chest every time he gets reminded of how  _ lucky _ he is that he gets to have this. Pack. Love. A raucous and bright life to come home to. 

“All that’s missing is a rock on my finger,” Stiles winks at the screen.

_ “Graduate first and we’ll talk about it,”  _ Derek responds sternly, but a matching smitten expression gives him away. However, since Stiles is werewolf-married to an  _ asshole  _ (he definitely hasn’t forgotten this feature), Derek hangs up on him right after that. 

Stiles huffs and accepts his fate of spear-heading yet another investigatory project for the department. He turns his laptop off and shoves it in his knapsack, grumbling under his breath about how long the trek to Gilbert Building is from his dorm. 

Noel tracks his leave with a curious look and says, “You’re a sophomore, right?”

Stiles nods with a chuckle, “Yeah dude, we’ve been roomies since freshman year last year. You good?” 

Noel nods his head and follows with, “You know, most married couples in their early twenties statistically have a higher divorce rate. I’m just saying.”

Stiles responds to this with a full-bellied laugh, patting Noel on his bony shoulder for good measure. “Oh man, you’re - that’s cute. Real cute. Yeah, don’t worry about me.”

Noel only shrugs, says, “All right, man, I got nothing against it,” and that was the end of that. 

Stiles grins goofily the entire way out his dormitory.

He knows his circumstances with the pack have left a lot of people confused. It took an entire semester before his blockmates believed he had a boyfriend back home who was GQ-model-hot and also literally built a house for him when he asked for it. (Talk about romance.) Showing pictures of the rest of the pack like a proud parent was a different matter altogether. 

But he gets it. He’s twenty, a dean’s-lister sophomore who has an entire future ahead of him in his field. Most people say it’s the perfect time to be a bachelor. But most people really wouldn’t ever acclimatize to the kind of life he leads: heading a werewolf pack, protecting an entire county, splitting time between college and checking in on the Betas who still call him at odd hours of the night asking how to fold a fitted sheet or if corn was a vegetable. 

But for Stiles? It suits him just fine. 

. . .

  
  


Derek is an upstanding, law-abiding - and sometimes even a law-enforcing - citizen. The Sheriff could tell you just as much. He donates to charity every month, volunteers at the local fire district when the Sheriff’s Department doesn’t require much of his consultant work, and he’s a good Alpha to the Beacon Hills pack. Stiles, then, could tell you just as much. 

In general, he’s gotten his life together. He pays taxes and various other bills and has a house now. There’s a  _ vegetable garden _ in that house. Even girl scouts aren’t afraid to sell him cookies outside the supermarket, and you bet he gets three boxes of Tagalongs every time. 

His life has been looking up for quite some time now, and it’s great. 

So why the fuck was half police force parked in his driveway?

The sight makes him clamber out the car and charge inside the house with urgency, leaving the eco-bags filled to the brim with perishables in the passenger seat of the Camaro that’s left on hazard. He hears too many heart-beats inside his home, not really smelling of fear or danger but suspicion is given where it is due. And after years of living in this town, Derek’s learned to be constantly suspicious. 

When he wrenches the door open, he’s taken-aback at the picture of seven detectives and half of his pack members crowding close to the coffee table in the living room, where Stiles is stationed, holding a map of some sort. 

Everyone snaps their head up to look at him. The Betas look unperturbed. 

“I - what.” 

“Welcome home, honeybaked!” Stiles greets with a bright smile. Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Scott, and Allison all wave simultaneously at him like pod people. He recognises the faces of the deputies, some he’s worked with, and frowns in confusion.

“What are you all doing in my house?” Derek says with more gruffness than the situation called for. He turns his full attention to Stiles. “Which one of you got arrested again?”

Stiles scoffs, letting go of the map to rise to his full height and crossing his arms. “You’re one to talk, Mister Ex-con. And relax, we’re just having some good-old security improvement planning at the school. New principal hired me to install basic wards.” 

Derek raises both his eyebrows. “You? Why?”

“Because we’re one lawsuit away from suspending the high school,” Stiles says cheerfully, “which is a bad thing. But good for me, because I get paid. And good for the school because we’re getting too many goddamn fae-creatures lurking around, one of which used to include you.” 

The deputies regard Derek with surprise with an unmistakable tinge of judgement. He feels himself flush at being called out without the proper context.  _ “Stiles,”  _ He chastises.

Stiles gives a wave of his hand and faces the deputies, “It’s not as creepy as it sounds. Totally justified lurking. He didn’t even like me back then, preferred to slam me against walls. Fun stuff.” 

The deputies didn’t look too appeased by that either. 

“Stiles,” Derek repeats, crossing his arms and mirroring Stiles’ stance. “You can take your business to the study, if you want.” 

Stiles takes this in stride and informs everyone to move out, leading them to a room where a long oak table can be utilised. Erica lags back to be scent-marked by her Alpha, rumbling in satisfaction when Derek puts a hand between her shoulder blades. 

“Papa's home,” she says gleefully. “Aren’t you happy?” 

“Of course. But he was here two days ago, too,” Derek responds. “Come help with the groceries if you’re not going to join them.” 

Together, they make quick work of unpacking the groceries and putting them away. Derek leaves Stiles and the deputies to their work, focusing instead on the strong, collective heart beats of his pack as he starts preparing dinner. He kicks Erica out of the kitchen, and she happily bounds away to rejoin the group. From the counter, he can see Stiles accept her presence with a scent-marking gesture. 

He’s never going to get tired of Stiles coming back home. Having him and the entire pack away for college has been difficult on everyone, but there’s something to be said about this being evidence of a strong-enough bond that takes a beating by distance. 

The pack likes it better when Stiles comes back, too. Derek has witnessed on two occasions Isaac waiting out the front porch just so he can be the first to welcome the denmaker with open arms. Everything feels more settled when he and Stiles are together. The house smelled right, lunch tasted better, and everyone taps into the sense of being whole again. Derek never understood the accuracy of such maudlin sentiments the way his mom used to describe it until he was raising a pack of his own. 

Strong arms wrap around his torso, and Stiles mumbles against the side of his face, “Did I surprise you?” And this, he thinks, is his favourite part. 

“You’ve never been able to,” he answers with a chuckle, turning around to embrace his boyfriend fully. “How long can you stay this time?” 

Stiles presses his nose against Derek’s throat, a habit the human has picked up from all the scent marking his wolves have done to him. “Three days,” Stiles says, then pulls back with a grin. “Enough days to make up for all boning we haven’t been having.” 

_ “Not until we’re out of the house!”  _ Scott yells from the study. 

“Don’t care!” Stiles responds in a similar decibel, making Derek wince. The human laughs and presses a kiss on his earlobe, mumbling, “Sorry, sorry, sensitive wolfy ears, I know.” 

Contrary to Stiles’ deference, they don’t do anything else but prepare dinner for the pack. It was the first time in a long while that everyone had the time to come back home, and that meant feeding a lot of large appetites. He and Stiles worked together to cook up a storm of red meat, pasta, and pie that probably wouldn’t last long with the amount of food the Betas can put away. 

One by one, pack members filter in the house, sweeping each other into hugs and smacking kisses and promising to come back more often. Though it’s never bothered Derek, Stiles has always gotten more attention from the pack. Whether it be tailing after him while he sets the table, badgering him about a life update, or engaging in random affectionate touches that even Jackson and Lydia partake in. 

Stiles takes to all of this with ease, multi-tasking by nodding along to anecdotes from Scott’s preparation for Med-school and making the appropriate commentary to Allison’s wedding planning endeavors in between folding napkins. It’s second nature now to him to give the comfort the Betas reach out for, ruffling Isaac’s curls, putting a hand on Boyd’s shoulder, tamping down Jackson’s aggression towards Erica with placating jokes. 

It still makes his heart swell, three years down the line.

Dinner is a clamorous affair, with conversation zig-zagging in impossible patterns and plates of food being passed around every few minutes. Laughter rings clear every now and then, coupled with shouts of protest from some argument or other. Melissa was locked in conversation with Stiles about the new project his department at Stanford was working on, when the Sheriff nudged his beer glass to Derek’s. 

“Good to have everyone back, huh?” 

“Naturally, sir,” Derek responds. “This house isn’t built to be quiet anymore.” He looks around with an upturn of his mouth. 

“I’ll say,” John starts, “every reunion is like a mutiny. I think one of them broke a vase earlier.”

Derek tips his head, “How much money do you have on Scott?”

John chuckles, “Less than the money I have on Stiles. He used to break mugs with the sheer force of his ADHD. Speaking of, I think that son of mine found something that isn’t his.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

The Sheriff gives Derek a knowing look. “Well, something that isn’t supposed to be his yet.” He sets his beer down on the table and looks almost disappointed at Derek. John says in a low voice, “Hiding the ring box in a sock drawer is the lamest way to keep it from Stiles and you know it.” 

Derek chokes on his beer, looking wildly around the table to see if anyone heard it. When he’s abated by no one looking the wiser, he whispers back. “ _ He found it?”  _

“What’d you expect, son? He called me the second he did.” John shakes his head. “You would’ve had better luck if you put it in a flower pot. Or, you know, not have bought it three years prior the day you’re actually going to use it.” 

“I just - I plan ahead,” Derek breathes out in exasperation, closing his eyes momentarily. “He’s the worst at being surprised, Jesus.” 

John chuffs a laugh, “You knew what you were getting into the day you signed him off as your emergency contact. Face the music, Hale.” 

Derek shakes his head and takes a disgruntled swig of his beer. From across the table, Stiles catches his off-focused glower and winks at him playfully. As miffed as he was, he smiles back. 

It was a unanimous vote that everyone slept over, and it filled Derek with pride at his own choice of building nine rooms for his growing pack. Only Melissa and John had retired to their own home. 

As tradition called for, they were piled in the living room watching a Marvel movie, paired up and sitting contently in their own claimed spots. Stiles has taken his place on Derek’s side, brushing the hair on his head that was laid on the human’s chest. He could hear every breath Stiles took from here and was jostled every time the body under him got too enthusiastic about a fight scene. 

The hand that wasn’t threaded through his hear was clutched in his own. His thumb absent-mindedly swipes a rhythm across Stiles’ ring finger. 

He turns his head to look up at the human and says, “Someone told me you’ve been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” 

Stiles raises his eyebrow in confusion before realisation appears to dawn on him in a fit of laughter. “Oh man, Dad’s such a rat. For the record, I think my nose  _ definitely _ belongs where it’s been sticking in.”

“It belongs in my drawer?” Derek drawls. 

The human rolls his eyes and tells him, “Dumbest hidey-hole ever. It’s like you don’t even know me. Maybe I shouldn’t say yes to you.” 

“You’re a menace,” Derek says, all bark and no bite. 

Stiles fixes him a blinding grin. “And you’re the idiot who’s putting a ring on me.” 

And Derek? Derek could live with that. Probably forever. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me if you enjoyed it! 
> 
> While I have you, here is yet again a shameless plug for my other work which you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19818952/chapters/46926247)
> 
> Hang out with me on[tumblr](https://obscenitied.tumblr.com/) and [the sterek discord server](https://discord.gg/YuaTPfZ)


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